“It’s so much simpler than last year,” I [pg 035] said, as we sat over our cozy “tea,”—“having the pan and the oven ready-made, and all—”
“You don’t suppose anything could happen to it while we’re in here?” suggested Janet. “Shan’t I just run out and see?”
“No, sit still. What could happen? The fire’s going out.”
“Yes, I know.” But her voice was uncertain.
“You see, I’ve been all through it once,” I reassured her.
As we rose, Janet said, “Let’s go out before we do the dishes.” And to humor her I agreed. We lighted the lantern and stepped out on the back porch. It was quite dark, and as we looked off toward the fireplace we saw gleams of red.
“How funny!” I murmured. “I didn’t think there was so much fire left.”
We felt our way over, through the yielding mud of the orchard, and as I raised the lantern we stared in dazed astonishment. The pan was a blackened mass, lit up by winking red eyes of fire. I held the lantern more closely. I seized a stick and poked—the crisp black [pg 036] stuff broke and crumbled into an empty and blackening pan. A curious odor arose.
“It couldn’t have!” gasped Janet.
“It couldn’t—but it has!” I said.